


Just Breathe

by xxenjoy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Toxicity, Witcher Elixirs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 254
Collections: these bitches gay! good for them!!





	Just Breathe

Geralt is having a bad day. He's been travelling non-stop for over a week and between the monsters and Jaskier's incessant flirting, he's exhausted. It's not that he minds, per se; if he did, he would have left Jaskier behind years ago. But since he admitted to himself - begrudgingly - that Jaskier was, in fact, a friend - and very probably something more - it’s much more difficult to deal with Jaskier’s flirting.

And now he's fulfilled a contract early which in and of itself is not a bad thing, but he's hopped up on potions and feels like he's crawling out of his skin. The villagers, he's sure, meant to help when they stepped in. And they did, but Geralt didn't _want_ help - he wanted to take his anger and frustration out on the beast and return to the town for a hot bath. 

He's still planning on the bath, but getting paid for his work is going to have to wait. In his experience, returning to a client looking like he does know never results in a repeat contract. And Geralt needs as much coin as he can get. 

They let him into the bathhouse, but only because Geralt knows the man at the door, had saved his wife from a stray drowner a few years back. He fills the tub himself and heats it with igni before stepping in and sinking into the water. He shuts his eyes and sighs, trying to calm the storm in his mind. His peace lasts for all of five minutes before his fingers twitch against the side of the tub and his muscles ache to stretch and _move_. 

Sighing angrily, Geralt pushes himself up out of the tub and crosses the room to find his clothes. He'll have to return to the inn because he can't just take off without letting Jaskier know, but he can't stay here any longer. He needs to move. Jaskier will be upset with him. They've both been looking forward to a break and a warm bed, but it's going to have to wait. 

When he gets back to the inn, he keeps out of sight but a few people catch a glance at him and cower in response. One even goes as far as running to the innkeeper to tell him. So Geralt is tense and irritable already and when he opens the door to their room, his patience reaches its limit. 

Jaskier is sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under him, naked except for one of Geralt's shirts hanging off his shoulders. The scent hits him first and heat rolls through his body, lingering at the back of his neck. He shuts his eyes to at least relieve himself of the image of it, but his mind recreates it for him behind his eyelids. 

"Geralt-" Jaskier starts, quick, panicky. 

"I'm not mad," he grits out and Jaskier's footsteps stop. "Take it off."

Geralt can hear the sharp intake of breath and he can only hope Jaskier doesn't realize what's going through his mind right now. It's not his fault Jaskier looks so damn good in his clothes and it's not his fault he smells like heaven. And normally it wouldn't be this bad, but he can hear every hitch in Jaskier's breath, smell the faintest changes in his emotions and right now he stinks of lust and something not unlike embarrassment. 

He makes no attempt to comply with Geralt's request, though, and Geralt's eyes snap open, careful to meet Jaskier's and hold his gaze.

" _Take it off_ ," he growls. Jaskier smirks at him and the scent of lust in the air spikes. 

"Make me," Jaskier says and he says it so quietly Geralt doesn't think he's supposed to hear him. His feet move without his permission, hands pressing against Jaskier's chest as he reaches him. He doesn't stop until Jaskier's back hits the wall, his breath coming too quickly, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. 

"What did you say?" Geralt hisses and Jaskier just tilts his head and grins at him.

"If you want it back, take it."

Geralt's hands move roughly and he tries to tell himself this is a bad idea. _Leave. Leave the room and go somewhere else. Anywhere else_. Even if he gets the shirt off of Jaskier, it's going to continue to smell like him and _gods_ it smells so fucking good on him. Geralt's fingers graze Jaskier's bare skin, holding his breath and focusing so hard not to break his control. 

He wants to touch, but he keeps his hands back, only barely letting his fingers brush skin as he lifts the cloth up. But faint touches seem to be enough and Jaskier's soft sighs are too much. Geralt gets the shirt up and over his head, holding it out behind him. Jaskier reaches out to him and Geralt drops the shirt instantly, pressing Jaskier's hands against the wall above his head.

He doesn't trust himself now and at his most controlled he struggles to refute the bard's advances. He looks ahead and Jaskier catches his eyes. His pupils are wide, but his eyes are bright with devilish glee and want. And Geralt aches with unspent energy and a need to please. 

" _Fuck_."

Before he realizes what he's doing, his lips are pressed against Jaskier's, stifling a soft groan that goes straight to Geralt's cock. Jaskier responds enthusiastically, reaching to tangle his fingers in Geralt's hair and every inch of him is pressed against him. Belatedly, Geraly realizes that this is his doing and he rips himself away. 

"I could hurt you," he breathes, eyes lowered to the floor. Jaskier doesn't let go of him. 

"You won't."

"I will. I don't want to hurt you, Jaskier. I don't think I could hold back."

Jaskier presses closer, pushing himself off the wall and one of his hands wanders. He brushes gentle fingers along the side of Geralt's face and Geralt presses into the touch instinctively. His pulse settles a little at the gentleness of it and Geralt's eyelids flutter. 

"Maybe not then," Jaskier breathes. "I want you to enjoy being with me. I don't want you to force yourself." Geralt's head jerks up to look at him. 

"I'm not," he insists and Jaskier smiles softly. 

"Not what I meant, darling. Pass me that shirt?"

_Bad idea_ , Geralt thinks, but he detangles himself from Jaskier and bends to pick the article up from the floor. Jaskier takes it gently and pulls it back over his head, despite the fire still burning in his eyes. 

He guides Geralt toward the bed, sitting him on the edge of it and dropping to his knees. For a moment, Geralt's pulse spikes, but the scent wafting off Jaskier is softer now, the thick spice of lust lingering in the background. 

Jaskier lifts one leg at a time, pulling Geralt's boots off and setting them aside. He climbs up onto the bed next to him and Geralt follows him with his gaze, watching as Jaskier lifts the pillow and leans them against the wall. He settles back into them and runs his hands over Geralt's shoulders, encouraging him to move back with him. Geralt moves, slowly pressing himself back between Jaskier's legs. 

He shuts his eyes and lets himself be drawn back, so he's pressed against Jaskier's chest, his head resting on his shoulder. Jaskier is still aroused and it's distracting. He can't smell it anymore, but he can feel the press of him against his back and he groans with the desire to touch him. 

"Sorry," Jaskier breathes, "just relax."

Geralt snorts at him and Jaskier slips his fingers through his hair, running his fingertips along his scalp. It's calming, but Geralt struggles to quell the adrenaline still raging within him. He lets Jaskier pet him and rub his shoulders and it helps. He focuses on the press of his fingertips and the soft rise and fall of Jaskier's chest under him and he settles. 

It takes some time, but the colour slowly returns to his skin, the black veins retreating. He breathes normally again and Jaskier buries his nose in his hair. As he starts to sing, Geralt rolls his head to face him, looking up through his lashes. Jaskier curses under his breath and smiles down at him so softly. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Mmm."

"Good. Do you want supper?"

Geralt shakes his head, pulling Jaskier's arm over his chest. He shifts and presses his nose into Jaskier's neck, inhaling his scent. He reaches up to brush his fingers along the other side of his neck and Jaskier shivers under him.

"Thank you," he whispers. He tips his head up and Jaskier's heart races as he presses their lips together softly. Jaskier is softer, making space for him as Geralt turns in his arms. When Geralt pulls away, Jaskier kisses his forehead and smiles down at him. 

"Any time," he breathes, lazily running a hand up Geralt's spine. "You should eat, then later maybe we can think about dessert?" He wiggles his eyebrows and Geralt huffs a soft laugh. 

"I don't need to eat," he hums. He slips his arms around Jaskier's waist and leans in again, determined to make the bard forget about the idea of food. He has more important things on his mind.

When he kisses him, Jaskier hums against him and it only takes a moment for the fight to go out of him. The elixirs may have run their course, but Geralt still feels lightheaded. He's warm and content and Jaskier's hands feel hot where they creep under his shirt. He feels nearly drunk, but his mind is clear.


End file.
